Time poems
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En Tout Cas
© Edith Nesbit
WHEN I am glad I need your eyes
To be the stars of Paradise;
Your lips to be the seal of all
The joy life grants, and dreams recall;
Your hand, to lie my hands between
What time we walk the garden green.
A Memory
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Here, while the loom of Winter weaves
The shroud of flowers and fountains,
I think of thee and summer eves
Among the Northern mountains.
The Shepherd's Week : Saturday; or, The Flights
© John Gay
Bowzybeus.
Sublimer strains, O rustic muse, prepare;
Song. Love, Like Cordial Wine
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Love, like cordial wine,
Pouring his soul in mine,
Bids me to sing;
Youth's bright glory snatch,
And Time's paces match
With fearless wing.
Evening On The Farm
© Madison Julius Cawein
From out the hills where twilight stands,
Above the shadowy pasture lands,
With strained and strident cry,
Beneath pale skies that sunset bands,
The bull-bats fly.
To Catharine
© George Moses Horton
I'll love thee as long as I live,
Whate'er thy condition may be;
All else but my life would I give,
That thou wast as partial to me.
On The Death Of Pushkin
© Mikhail Lermontov
"Hence is he, hence! His song out-rung,
The Singer even as the song he sung;
Who of a hot, heroic mood,
In death disgraceful shed his blood!"
After Drafting
© Roderic Quinn
NIGHT has fallen, night and darkness,
Night with star and planet splendid;
And the earth lies like a giant
Wrapt in sleep, with limbs extended.
Idyll XXIX. Loves
© Theocritus
Mindful of this, be gentle, is my prayer,
And love me, guileless, ev'n as I love thee;
So when thou has a beard, such friends as were
Achilles and Patroclus we may be."
Romancin'
© James Whitcomb Riley
I' b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says, and I'm
About o' the conclusion that they ain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used to know
When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto solem'-like and low!
A Musing On A Victory
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Down by the Sutlej shore,
Where sound the trumpet and the wild tum-tum,
At winter's eve did come
A gaunt old northern lion, at whose roar
The myriad howlers of thy wilds are dumb,
Blood-stained Ferozepore!
Elegy I. To Charles Deodati (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come,
Charged with thy kindness, to their destin'd home,
Consolation
© William Taylor Collins
How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer,
wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns.
How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets,
fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard
and all the sudden hand gestures of my compatriots.
To A Young Lady, On Being Too Fond Of Music
© Charles Lamb
Why is your mind thus all day long
Upon your music set;
Till reason's swallowed in a song,
Or idle canzonet?
Found Letter by Joshua Weiner: American Life in Poetry #123 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
There is a type of poem, the Found Poem, that records an author's discovery of the beauty that occasionally occurs in the everyday discourse of others. Such a poem might be words scrawled on a wadded scrap of paper, or buried in the classified ads, or on a billboard by the road. The poet makes it his or her poem by holding it up for us to look at. Here the Washington, D.C., poet Joshua Weiner directs us to the poetry in a letter written not by him but to him.
Sir Walter Scott
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
DEAD!it was like a thunderbolt
To hear that he was dead;
Though for long weeks the words of fear
Came from his dying bed;
Yet hope denied, and would deny
We did not think that he could die.
A Brother In Need
© Henrik Johan Ibsen
NOW, rallying once if ne'er again,
With flag at half-mast flown,
The Coming Century
© Sam Walter Foss
If the century gone, as the wise ones attest,
Exceeds all the centuries before it,
